In Solitude
by TheNarcolepticBishounen
Summary: Solomon was the only one who could love Carl, and he wants Carl to believe that. Rated M for a reason, written for the Blood anonymous unofficial kinkmeme on LJ.


1Memory gets washed away with time. Sometimes Solomon wonders if Karl even remembers all that happened to him, as most of his own memories are faded and decayed like shirts with their colors washed out while being cleaned– and then some part of him reminds Solomon that Karl will never forget.

If Karl forgets, it will make no difference, either way. Karl knows Solomon and in this, knows that he is not a man to be trusted, despite his seemingly kind exterior. Solomon does not always deny this fact.

Though most of the time it hurts to accept it– like how Saya's constant rejecting of him hurts him, or how his own fading remembrances hurt him. And yet, Solomon remembers vividly only the things he would like to forget (thinks 'Maybe this is how Karl feels.', and is certain of it), like the day he had brought Karl to Diva, trembling and frightened and only trustingcallingneeding SolomonSolomonSolomon. At the time, Solomon had given the barest hint of upturned lips before he had closed his eyes and listen to Karl's harsh breaths resounding in the open room, until, later, he waited until Karl's weak footsteps shuffled out the door behind Amshel's confident ones.

He had not seen Karl often, after that.

And now that Karl stands before him, needing not necessarily him, but somebody, he would like to forget more than anything. Solomon would like to start anew, but maybe fresh starts are not something that is allowed for people like them who live on and on forever, never changing, never growing, never seeing more than their own two feet in front of them, and possibly the feet of the person ahead of them (but you, you see the feet _behind_ you).

"Karl," he says, and more and more often does Solomon find himself using this as a way to start all of his sentences. The gentle tone of voice, the false trust, the softness and caring that Karl has, in the end, always needed but never taken. Karl is smart enough to know that it is a lie, but not open-eyed enough to understand that not _all _of it is not the truth.

"Solomon," Karl grits out from between his gritted teeth, grinding down until, perhaps, he will be met with gums. "You..."

And then a pause. Rethinking one's self. Taking in possibilities. Speaking again and denying any option beyond demand, force, yelling, frustration. Sometimes it is embarrassing to watch Karl, to know him so well. "Why? You stopped me again and I almost, I almost..._Why did you stop me? _I had Saya in my hands."

What Karl is asking is something like 'Isn't that what you wanted, Solomon?' and Solomon smiles at him. To know him so well...

Solomon asks himself 'Yes, what do I want?' and really, he's not quite so sure. Maybe he would like to comfort Karl, to wipe away the fogginess of memories they both do not want to remember, not really, but do anyway. Maybe he would like to make Karl understand that Solomon was once human and that is why he makes mistakes– had it been in the present, would he have behaved in the same manner that he once did toward Karl? Indifference with an exception occurring only when he wanted or required something?

Yes, probably.

Solomon is not human anymore. He neither makes mistakes nor fixes them again. There is no point in pretending that he does.

Instead he walks up to Karl and places a hand on his shoulder. The cloth of Karl's clothing is warm against skin, but not warm enough to seem humane. "Karl," he says again, and this time he understands himself, the fact that perhaps it is because he does not know what to say to Karl, nor how to put it. It is easier to put what he means in a single word followed by actions than put it in a bunch of words. It is easier to touch him, now, than it ever was before.

He takes the half-hearted upturn of lips from Karl's first coming many years ago, and turns it into a smile.

"Forget it, Karl. Do not let it plague you. Let," and here he pauses to trail his fingers up from Karl's shoulder to his collarbone, from his collarbone to his neck. "It all be silenced. Here." Solomon presses his fingers lightly against Karl's temple. When he puts his other hand on Karl's right shoulder, he can feel him trembling.

"Here...?" Karl murmurs, and as his eyes trail down to the floor, Solomon takes the chance to tug Karl against him until they are lined up limb for limb, abdomen to abdomen and everything else.

When he presses his lips against Karl's, Karl has ceased shaking. His hand is stable as Solomon tugs it up to his own cheek, and squeezes it firmly until his sets it on the skin. Karl trails his fingers over the skin– gloved leather over flesh, cold against warmth, Karl against Solomon. It makes Solomon close his eyes briefly before he presses his lips over Karl's and walks them into the wall behind them.

The buttons of Karl's clothes are fairly easy to get off, even with his eyes closed and his lips preoccupied against Karl's chin, trailing down and down and down.

Karl groans and tries to push away Solomon's hands, but the new pressure Solomon stirs against his mouth leaves Karl breathless again and when he pants quietly Solomon takes the opportunity to let his tongue trace over canines, gums, roof of the mouth. Karl's hands rest somewhere on Solomon's hips and Solomon pauses in his unbuttoning to tug them up gently to his chest, where Karl lets his finger individually trace a nipple through the polyester fabric of Solomon's dress shirt beneath his jacket.

Karl pushes off the jacket and Solomon shimmies out of the sleeves, letting it drop to the floor. In return, he tugs roughly on the clip in Karl's hair, and it comes loose with a few strands still curled around the teeth where they fall in artistic circles and curves on the floor– standing out against the bright, starched whiteness of Solomon's suit coat.

Solomon undoes the belt buckles of his pants and they slide to the floor after he unzips them, and he watches with eager eyes as he unbuttons the last of the ties on Karl's clothing until it slides over lazily, revealing a large portion of pale skin, unmarred and presented up to him. Solomon wastes little time in pressing his lips in frantic, butterfly motions against the flesh, and Karl leans his head back to the wall with a light thunk as he moans.

Karl stiffens once as Solomon slides the length of the skirted portion of Karl's dress upwards, until it lies scrunched in Solomon's hands somewhere near Karl's ribs as Solomon's bites the skin of Karl's hip and sucks on the flesh of his uncovered belly, pausing to lick over Karl's bellybutton and trail somewhere upwards. He fingers the waistband of Karl's pants until his shoves them down to Karl's ankles, and they catch on the backs of Karl's shoes and stick there.

Karl is panting by the time Solomon kisses his thighs as he spreads his knees, and Solomon stays motionless with his hands resting on Karl's kneecaps until Karl relaxes again, heart fluttering in his chest, nervous and alight.

Solomon places two of his fingers in his mouth to get them wet and then he's pushing them into Karl– scissoring, stretching, stretching. Karl's still moaning with his head thrown back against the wall and Solomon thinks that maybe he likes the burn of the intrusion.

When he thinks he's prepared Karl enough, Solomon gets up off his knees and bunches Karl's dress back up around his ribs again. He keeps his hand there, scrunched around the fabric, and the fist he makes grows tighter as he enters Karl. It's almost painfully tight, and Solomon takes a moment to stop with his forehead against Karl's shoulder to pant and moan and listen to Karl's harsh breathing as he takes it all in.

It's a sort of dry, helpless fucking they're doing against the wall, exasperated and frustrated with each other, and Karl's tension pours out of him through the hands he's running down Solomon's back. Absently, it hurts, even with Karl's gloves still on, but it doesn't hurt enough to distract him from his thrusts– in out, in out, in outinout and again, and he starts losing himself right along the time he loses count.

"Karl," he says, where his lips are pressed up against Karl's jaw line and planting sloppy kisses and nips there, and his words are muffled but Karl still responds with a resounding 'Solomon!' and Solomon wants to clench Karl's hips in his hands and thrust into every bit of him, except he still has to keep that single hand held up at Karl's chest, clenching the dress tightertighter.

Karl's pushing back now and whenever Solomon shifts or flexes his knees so they don't give out on him, Karl keeps the same rhythm– and it's enough, the mixture of Karl fucking himself and Solomon fucking Karl, that Solomon can feel himself about to orgasm and he cries out into Karl's neck.

Instead of kissing it this time he bites it hard enough to bleed– and the feeling of warmth and liquid bubbling up from the wound makes him nauseous for a second, and he lets it pool out in a line of drool from the corners of his mouth to dribble onto the part of Karl's shoulder that's still unbuttoned and viewable.

It's not until his mind registers the sharp pain in his shoulder that he realizes Karl bit him _back, _and he chuckles as the blood slides down in crooked lines to the tilted line of his shirt collar to thin out somewhere around the bottom hem of his shirt. It'll leave a stain, which is a pity– Solomon had always liked the shirt. Though perhaps it was a fair enough sacrifice, as he swallows back the taste of copper in his throat that tried to surface. He doesn't think it tastes metallic– just that it tastes like Karl.

Karl's body tenses for a hint of a moment before he goes, almost, limp, and Solomon jerks him back up against the wall just as he started sliding down. He came– shades of white sliding down their chests and stomachs and after Solomon comes too it starts dribbling down Karl's legs.

Solomon's head spins for a second out of many, and he places one more kiss on Karl's neck before he pulls out and tugs up his pants to spend a generous amount of time buttoning them with shaky fingers.

Karl tries to look dignified bringing his back out of his board-straight position from being shoved against the wall so long, and he looks like a child and yet twice as grown as he tugs his pants up from his ankles and shoves his dress back down past hipskneesankles.

Solomon thinks for an instant that he sees Karl's bottom lip tremble as he stumbles his way out of the room, gloved fingers clutching at the walls where he can for support. 'As if a child.' he thinks, and is able to smile just a bit wider for the rest of the day.


End file.
